


weekend.

by boobsirwin



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, But actually not - Freeform, Internalized Homophobia, Lashton - Freeform, M/M, One Night Stands, Only if you squint - Freeform, Smoking, Strangers, there isn't really much to tag, this is still a mess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 21:08:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7949224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boobsirwin/pseuds/boobsirwin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>one weekend. that's all it takes for luke to fall in love with ashton.</p>
<p>or </p>
<p>the one where luke is lonely on a friday night and ashton is the light in a dark club.</p>
            </blockquote>





	weekend.

**Author's Note:**

> hello lovelies!! 
> 
> i uploaded this story two years ago, thought i would rewrite it a bit and realised i still have no clue what i'm doing. 
> 
> it's still very loosely ( not loosely at all ) based on the movie 'weekend', which i can only recommend. 
> 
> i hope you like it and happy reading !!
> 
> ( p.s. this is unbeta'd )
> 
>  
> 
> ( p.p.s. lilly if u come and read this don't think i won't know )

On Friday night, Luke’s sitting on a firm barstool in a stuffy club and he’s skimming his tired eyes through the crowd.  
  
 Everyone is dancing, grinding filthily on strangers, sweaty bodies sliding against each other to the beat of music he doesn’t really recognise. Maybe it’s Justin Bieber, maybe it’s also Chris Brown, but it could be something completely different, too. Whatever. It all sounds the same, anyway. Everyone else seems to be enjoying it, at least, so maybe the DJ isn’t doing a too bad job - what does Luke knows. All Luke knows is that it’s too loud and it’s making his ears ring.  
  
But that might just be because he really isn’t in a good mood.  
  
 He eyes the remains of his drink a bit sadly. He knows that if he finishes it now, he’ll have to either get another one or go home. He’s already sitting all by himself in a dingy club on a Friday night, he doesn’t have to make his situation worse by sitting all by himself in a dingy club without even a drink to keep him company. The picture he gets in his mind is too pathetic - even for him.  
  
He doesn’t really like either idea. He’s already drunk, his head is spinning a little and he had actually planned on driving back to his apartment afterwards, goddamn it. He’s pretty certain he can kiss goodbye to that idea. So he’s not sure how well he’d handle another drink. But Luke also really doesn’t feel like going home, because. Well. Another drunken night spent alone in his bed. That’s Luke.  
  
 So he doesn’t finish his Vodka Redbull. He’ll give it another five minutes.  
  
He’s tired from a busy day at uni and pissed off at Michael for no other reason than Michael’s happiness. Michael has a nice girlfriend and they invite people over for barbecues on a Friday evening and drink beers. It’s always so depressively fun at Michael’s house that Luke just can’t help but wonder what the hell he’s not doing right. It’s not like he doesn’t also have fun at Michael’s get-togethers, he laughs and drinks beers with all of them and they usually have a really good time. It’s more that he always leaves with an emptier feeling than before.  
  
 It’s probably that feeling exactly that lead him here tonight - instead of taking the left turn to his place when coming from Michael’s, he just kept driving straight ahead at the intersection to this dingy club, full of promises. And now none of the roughly 200 people here even remotely interest him and he has to be at work tomorrow.  
  
But it’s a Friday night, the beginning of the weekend, and Luke’s feeling lonely.  
  
 He knows he’s going to end up getting another something with vodka, slosh it around in his glass until it’s warm and watery, because all the ice has melted, before downing it and having to call a cab to get him to his apartment. Alone, again. Given, the scowl he’s wearing on his face tonight probably isn’t helping him get an attractive guy interested enough to even attempt to chat him up. He doesn’t exactly look like a carefree, young guy looking to get laid.  
  
But he thinks, fuck it and throws the last of his drink back. It’s warm and watery, because all the ice has melted and it’s actually pretty disgusting. The taste of alcohol is only faint now, so it doesn’t do much to mask the taste of melted crushed ice. Luke keeps it in his mouth for as long as he figures he can get away with anyway, before he will have to push his glass across the counter and order another. Or leave.  
  
 He thinks he’ll leave.  
  
He orders another one.  
  
 Maybe if he gets enough alcohol in his system it will help him lower his too-high standards. (Michael tells him his standards are impossibly high all the time. He says that he probably won’t find the perfect guy, like they are in the books and the movies, because that’s fiction. But he also says that he’ll find someone, who might not be perfect, but that together they’ll make a perfect match. Kind of. Michael then always tells him not to worry, that he ended up with an idiot, too and his girlfriend smacks him across the head, while Michael laughs. Luke usually laughs, too, even when he doesn’t feel like it.)  
  
But honestly, all that’s bullshit. Luke isn’t trying to find Prince Charming tonight. He’s looking for someone to be gone by tomorrow morning.  
  
 And maybe he does have high standards. Sue him. But the guy he’s getting with could at least be attractive and maybe not an old weirdo that was going to make Luke piss on him. If that was having high standards, he could live with his high standards. He’s almost halfway through his fourth drink, not counting the beers he’s had at Michael’s barbecue earlier, and continues to sulk. Because, really, life kind of sucked tonight.  
  
It’s well past three when he tells himself to finally get his shit together. He’s about to ask the bartender, who’s been shooting him pitying glances for the past hour which Luke absolutely didn’t notice, to call him a cab, when he sees this guy push his way through the crowd past him.  
  
 And that wouldn’t necessarily be anything extraordinary, except. Except that this guy really is extraordinary.  
  
He has a prominent jawline that Luke wants to run his fingers along and slight stubble on and around his chin that Luke is sure would feel good against his own chin. His lips are parted in a wide smile that shows off a white set of teeth and dimples. Fuck, there are dimples, too. His eyes seem to sparkle in the colourful, flashing lights of the club and Luke really wishes he could make out their colour.  
  
 His hair is carefully tucked away under a black snapback, not a single strand falling into his face and Luke finally understands why they’re called _muscle_ shirts. They might as well have been invented solely so Mr. Biceps could walk past Luke on a Friday night in a dingy club and make Luke have thoughts that required a thorough bath in holy water afterwards.  
  
Luke, with all good will, cannot bring himself to look away. There must be a spotlight on him, because his gaze follows this guy make his way through the crowded place until the bathroom door shuts behind him and Luke snaps out of his trance. It might be a bit ridiculous, but honestly. This could easily be the most gorgeous guy he’s ever seen and he doesn’t know why Michael would lie to him like this. Would say the perfect guy doesn’t exist when he just walked past Luke. He thinks that, just maybe, he can fall in love like this.  
  
 Admittedly, he’s pretty tipsy.    
  
Luke is absolutely not going to keep wallowing in self pity when that guy is right here. He at least wants to get a better look. Might as well.  
  
 He slips from the barstool he thought would stay his only friend tonight and quickly realises that he must’ve been sitting and drinking there for longer than he thought. His head is whirring lightly, his butt feels numb and he has to close his eyes against all the bright lights dancing around him. It takes him a second to find his balance and for the blurred edges of the bar to come into focus again properly when he does open his eyes.  
  
But then he’s standing at last and he starts following the same path this guy just went, making his way through the crowd, having no thought to spare for possible casualties. He’s pretty sure he elbows at least three people in the ribcage, who call something after him in annoyance or maybe just huff a bit. He can’t bring himself to bother with it because his eyes are fixed on the spot where he last saw Mr. Biceps. Luke thoroughly hopes that he won’t have to call him ‘Mr. Biceps’ forever, not only because it’s ridiculous, but also because he would really like to learn his actual name. If he doesn’t he figures he’ll be even more depressed than before.  
  
 Luke pushes the door to the restrooms open and takes a few steps inside. The music is suddenly dull and it’s brighter in here so it takes Luke’s alcohol-addled mind a moment to adjust to its new surroundings. There’s a couple vigorously making out next to him now, but he hardly pays them any mind. His eyes dance around the room, as if he was in a trance again. It might’ve been because the stranger had completely and utterly mesmerised Luke to the point where nothing else mattered. It probably is because of his intoxication.  
  
He spots Mr. Biceps at the sinks, then and it’s stupid, really. But this guy still has a pretty smile on his face while washing his hands in the restroom of a dingy club and Luke is absolutely positive he’s the only reason it’s so much brighter in here. He wonders if everyone else also notices that he’s the only source of light in the room, that the flickering neon tubes above doubtlessly have nothing to do with the brightness.  
  
 He moves to one of the urinals, never quite taking his eyes off the man who is already making his way out of the door again. Surprisingly, the room doesn’t exactly seem to get darker when the door shuts behind the stranger once again. But Luke thinks, well. He might as well use the opportunity to use the toilet after four Vodka something while he’s here and not look like a complete stalker- idiot.  
  
So, that’s that. And now that he’s gotten a second look, he’s trying to figure out how to further approach this. Getting out of the bathroom seems like a good first step to Luke. So he winds his way back through the mass of moving bodies and looks around, trying to spot the black snapback anywhere between the dancing people. When he doesn’t right away, he prays to god - a god, he doesn’t believe in god, but he prays to some kind of god anyway - that this guy is still here somewhere and hasn’t left. That Luke hasn’t just totally blown his chance to learn Mr. Biceps’ name and oh god, Luke is so, so desperate.  
  
 He thinks he might be entirely depressed if he doesn’t get laid tonight and he thinks he might be even more entirely depressed if he doesn’t get laid by that guy tonight. Speaking of lowering high standards.  
  
But then he does spot him and Luke’s heart does a little jump of relief. He’s at the bar, yelling something at the bartender over the music and the bartender is yelling something back, to which the guy throws his head back in laughter. It looks beautiful. He wishes he was the one making him laugh like that, just so he could witness it from up close, but it might’ve just been his drunken mind talking again. Though, he’s not so sure.  
  
 Step one was getting out of the bathroom and step two was finding Mr. Biceps again. If step one and step two had worked out this well for him, Luke’s sure step three might work out in his favour, too. So while he approaches the bar and the stranger, he’s already desperately racking his mind for something witty and fun to say to break the ice with. He’s going to make this count.  
  
“Hi,” he says, casually propping his elbow on the counter next to the guy and turning his body to face him. He gives himself a pat on the shoulder for this ice-breaker.  
  
Biceps turns to him then and the right side of his mouth pulls up into a smirk. He’s eyeing him with a mischievous glint in his eyes and oh. Oh. They appear to be really green and they’re really pretty, with little crinkles around them. Luke’s really gone.  
  
 “Hi,” he answers and takes a sip of his drink.  
  
There’s a short pause where Luke thinks the guy might say something else, but when he doesn’t, he says, “I’m Luke.”  
“Luke,” Biceps repeats and nods his head as if mulling it over in his head and Luke thinks he could really get used to the way his name rolls of this guy’s tongue. “It’s my pleasure. And I’m Ashton.” And yes, Luke thinks. Yes, Ashton suits him definitely and he’s just glad he finally has a name to match the face.  
  
 Luke can’t help the smile taking over his lips, for what feels like the first time tonight, and moves a little closer. (Because the music is so loud, he can barely hear him. Obviously.)  
  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
On Saturday morning, Luke wakes up to his bed dipping slightly next to him and a nudge to his ribcage that feels an awful lot like a pointy knee. He doesn’t budge for a moment, just grumbles and pretends to go right back to sleep. But the protruding knee in his ribs just keeps getting more insistent, so he gives up the facade and rolls over, groggily opening his eyes and blinking at the sleep-intruding sun. For a moment he wonders whose knee disturbed his slumber, but when he looks over to see a shirtless Ashton kneeling next to him, holding to cups of steaming somethings, vague memories from last night start coming back to him.  
  
 Ashton is smiling at him and his hair is going absolutely everywhere, but he looks nice and seems to only be wearing what Luke faintly recognises as his own sweatpants.  
  
“Coffee,” Ashton clarifies and shoves one of the cups into Luke’s face. Luke still feels a bit drunk and maybe a bit sick, but not enough to not appreciate this pretty guy bringing him coffee to his bed. He can’t suppress a yawn and, after having slid into a somewhat upright position, carefully takes the cup from Ashton with a grateful smile.  
  
 “Took me a while to figure out where you kept your kettle and coffee powder.” Ashton tilts his head to the side and the mischievous glint in his eyes is back. With the way the light is falling through the window into Luke’s little bedroom, he can make out that there’s a bit of really hazel mixed in with the really green and he finds them to be even prettier today. “But I managed,” Ashton finishes, raising his cup slightly because he was stating the obvious and takes a sip. He clinks his teeth against the rim of the cup a few times. “I didn’t know whether you take sugar and milk or not, so I just kind of went for it.”  
  
Luke smiles tiredly, nods. He brings the still steaming cup to his lips and blows, taking a sip. it’s too sweet and there’s too much milk, but he drinks it anyway. He lowers the mug to rest against his bare stomach and tips his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. He was never one for talking much in the mornings, but it always seems like alcohol glues his mouth shut entirely the next morning. Last night is kind of a blur in his hangover-addled mind, but he’s surprised to find Ashton hasn’t left as soon as possibility arose. But he knows better than to complain about the fact, because in the end, he’s really glad for the turn of events last night, given that he has a gorgeous boy sitting next to him in bed right now and he isn’t alone, again.  
  
 He realises that it’s something that doesn’t happen all that often, so like hell will he miss any more chances to look at Ashton. He opens his eyes again and looks back at the shirtless boy, who in the meantime shifted so he’s sitting cross-legged now. He’s still sipping his coffee and looks at Luke with a playful smirk over the rim of his cup and Luke kind of wants to kiss him, like, a lot.  
  
“You were proper shitfaced last night, man.”  
  
 Luke cringes slightly at the thought, his stomach only confirming it further with the way it’s twisting. “Oh god,” he hides his face behind his hand and only half-peeks at Ashton’s expression through his fingers. “Was I being awful?”  
  
Ashton snickers, but shakes his head gently. “Just cracked an awful ton of bad jokes.” He purses his lips, like he’s trying hard to hold back a grin and sets his mug down on the bedside table. Luke doesn’t tell him that Michael would swear on Luke’s life that he cracks an awful ton of bad jokes when he’s not drunk. Ashton doesn’t have to know that. “You were so drunk, I was kind of surprised you could even get it up. I felt a bit bad, honestly,” Ashton confesses and then he pouts, fucking pouts, and it’s the cutest thing ever. Luke feels his cheeks go red anyway and quickly hides his face in his coffee.  
  
 “Did we have sex?” he asks and immediately wants to take it back, pull the words back into his mouth and swallow them whole. His mind is still blurry and he feels awful for not remembering. It’s not something you usually tell the other participating party that openly and also it’s just embarrassing. Especially after Ashton already suggested that they did. But that’s Luke.  
  
Ashton doesn’t seem to mind though, he laughs lightheartedly and Luke could fall in love with the sound. Ashton turns his body so he’s lying on his stomach, face close to Luke’s and props himself up on his forearms. There’s still this dangerous twinkle in his eyes, but his eyebrow is pulled up in amusement and Luke’s looking down at him dumbly, his own eyes probably comically wide. He wonders if he could get away with kissing the other boy, if just to make him forget about his stupid question. He deems it a very stupid idea when he realises he must have horrible morning breath, if the taste in his mouth was anything to go by. Like something had died in there and no one had ever bothered to take a look, so instead he presses his lips together tightly.  
  
 But then Ashton says, “You sucked me off and I got you off with a hand job. Take that as you will.” And he’s grinning stupidly.  
  
Great. So his mouth probably tastes of cock as well.  
  
 Ashton makes the decision for him and before Luke can spare him of his mouth, Ashton is leaning up and pressing his lips against Luke’s. He feels his tongue lick over his bottom lip and Luke opens his mouth instinctively, trying to deepen the kiss. Ashton’s lips are soft and he faintly tastes like coffee and - mint?  
  
“You dick, did you brush your teeth?” Luke pushes him away and slaps a hand over his own mouth, looking at Ashton incredulously. He feels utterly betrayed. There he is, smelling terrible but wanting nothing more than to kiss Ashton and the asshole brushed his teeth, so he smells fresh and minty and nice. Luke wants to slap him.  
  
 “Sorry?” Ashton tries playfully and he’s laughing, but Luke isn’t about to forgive him so easily. He’s there, pretty with his ruffled morning hair and minty-fresh tongue and messing up Luke’s entire morning. (Really, it’s so much better than any other morning he’s ever had, kind of.)  
  
“I can’t believe you,” he tries to sound genuinely pissed off, but it’s not really working because there’s a laugh playing at the corners of his mouth.  
  
 But then Ashton asks, “When do you have to be at work?” and Luke says, “Twelve.” And Ashton hums quietly.  
  
They sit in comfortable silence for a while, Luke’s sipping his coffee and willing his headache to numb down a bit. He doesn’t particularly feel ready to face the day at work. He’s tired and hung-over and would much rather ask Ashton to go and grab some lunch with him, maybe catch a movie afterwards. But he can’t call in sick again, because his boss is already pissed off at him, he can tell. And also, Ashton probably wouldn’t even want that, anyway. It would make an awkward ending to something nice and Luke isn’t going to be responsible for that. This was a one night stand and Luke wanted someone to be gone by morning. Now’s not the time to be ridiculous.  
  
 But still. It’s Saturday morning, the weekend, and Luke’s not feeling so lonely.  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
  
It’s now eleven and Luke got motivated enough to get out of bed, with a little prodding and pulling from Ashton. He’s already showered and luckily he doesn’t have to do all that much for his hair to fall exactly the way he wants it to, since a half-hearted tousle is all he can bring himself to do anyway. He pulls the first shirt he gets his hands on from his closet and pulls it over his head, pairing it with his usual black jeans. It’ll do, like it does most days.  
  
 Ashton had asked him if it ‘was cool if he showered here, to minimise the walk of shame to a level where it was acceptable’ and Luke had told him ‘it’s cool’. Luke’s sitting at the table in his little kitchen, browsing through his Facebook when Ashton comes in.  
  
He turns his head to look at him, because it’s a natural reaction when someone enters the room, but then he doesn’t look away. Ashton’s honey brown curls are sticking to his forehead flatly, droplets of water still hanging from several strands. But that’s not the point, because damp hair isn’t usually that mesmerising. The point is that Ashton isn’t wearing a shirt again and he’s showing off a nicely toned body.  
  
 Okay, so he’s been granted that sight earlier today already, but now with his mind a little more awake, the grit washed out of his eyes and the late morning sun shining in through the kitchen window, washing Ashton in a beautiful, yellowy light, it’s another story. He wants to ask him to put his shirt on, because it’s actually just rude.  
  
“Wow,” Ashton says with a smirk and pulls his shirt from last night over his head. Now that the view’s denied, Luke takes it back. He doesn’t want him to wear clothes, ever.  
  
 “For a guy who was drunk off his ass last night and looked like he wouldn’t make it out of bed half an hour ago, you look incredibly handsome.”  
  
Luke looks down at himself and laughs, almost, because he must be kidding. Ashton is standing in front of him, looking like he walked out of the front cover of a magazine, and Luke’s just. Luke. He isn’t bad looking, he knows and he’s been told, but Ashton is a different level of not bad looking. He wonders if Michael would agree with casting Ashton as Prince Charming in Luke’s book, but he’s sure. Ashton is so objectively handsome, Michael would have to accept that it’s not just fiction at all.  
  
 He doesn’t say any of this. Obviously. He settles for an innocuous, “You’re to talk,” and lets his eyes roam over the other’s body freely, only to be met with a smirk mirroring his own when he looks up at his face again.  
  
And Luke really shouldn’t be thrown off by such a simple gesture, especially when he wanted to be the one keeping his cool this time, but apparently his genes don’t mean well with him when he feels his cheeks flame up again.  
  
 “Come on, let’s have a smoke and then I’ll piss of.”  
  
 Luke considers telling him that he doesn’t actually smoke, that it makes your skin wrinkly by the time you’re 25, but he decides he’d be glad to accompany Ashton for at least another five minutes while he ruins his lungs. It’s not his choice and he hates patronising people, so as often as he reminds himself he tries not to be a condescending asshole about things.  
  
He follows Ashton outside to his little balcony, where there is barely enough room for a small table and two chairs, but since Luke is alone most of the time anyway, it was more than enough. He notices the makeshift ashtray of aluminium foil on a plate on the table, already containing a burned down cigarette. He looks to Ashton, raising his eyebrows slightly because _he doesn’t actually smoke_ , but the other doesn’t acknowledge him as he plops down in one of the chairs and pulls a pack of Marlboro Red from his back pocket. He flicks his finger against the bottom, making a few of the white sticks spring into sight, and holds it out to Luke, questioningly. Expectant, maybe.  
  
 Luke eyes them for a moment and contemplates accepting. It’s not that he doesn’t have the willpower to say no. But he never swore to himself or any might in heaven that he would never lay a finger on a cigarette. He had never felt the need to try, he guesses. And that’s probably a good thing, because he doesn’t want to be wrinkly by the time he’s 25. He realises that that would be in four years already and thanks very much, that’s too soon to get wrinkly.  
  
He looks up at Ashton again and his expression is easy, calm, his eyebrows raised the slightest bit and soft smile playing around his lips. Luke’s heart suddenly feels heavy for a reason he can’t quite put his finger on. (Really, it’s because Ashton is so pretty and nice and comfortable while intruding Luke’s privacy, he really doesn’t want him to leave yet. But he has work and god knows what Ashton should probably be getting up to. He really doesn’t want him to leave.)  
  
 It’s decided, kind of.  
  
He smiles back at Ashton and takes a cigarette out, finally sitting down in the still unoccupied chair and holding the white stick with his index and middle finger, like he’s seen so many times. So he’s had a drag of a cigarette once, when he was 16. It was absolutely disgusting and it made him go into a coughing fit and he just never felt like he wanted to try it again afterwards. Michael says he just didn’t do it right, but how much can you do wrong? Apparently, a lot.  
  
 It’s not that he wants to impress Ashton or look cool in front of him - he’s not that pathetic. He just thinks,  
  
Might as well.  
  
 They can have one last cigarette together. It sounds dramatically beautiful and metaphorical to him and it’s definitely better than just sitting by, watching like a disgruntled old man.  
  
He kind of stares when Ashton gets settles back into his seat, unlit cigarette already dangling from his lips like he fucking Marlon Brando or something, and slides the pack of Marlboro Red back into his pocket. If smoking wasn’t so disgusting, he might have considered it hot on him. (But he’s not staring. He’s just waiting patiently for Ashton to give him a light. He’s not that smitten either.)  
  
 Once he retrieves the lighter from his other pocket with a contended grunt, Ashton holds it out to him, his eyes fixed on the hand that’s yielding the flame from the non-existent wind. Luke doesn’t hesitate and holds the butt between his lips, waiting for the tip to turn a dangerous orange. Instead the white paper just turns black and he doesn’t feel anything in his lungs either and actually not a lot happens, at all. He’s not sure what exactly, but he guesses he has to do something, so he sucks on it hard and indeed, it goes a reddish orange and his mouth fills with a bitter, pretty awful taste.  
  
He hopes Ashton doesn’t notice when he spews out the collected smoke from his mouth in a big puff and tries not to grimace at the taste it left on his tongue, so he’s glad to see that Ashton is too busy lighting his own to pay any mind to him. He chances a glance at his own cigarette and gives it a disgruntled look. He drops his hand to his knee and thinks that maybe he can get away with letting it burn down subtly. When he looks back up he’s almost certain there’s hearts jumping around in his eyes, because while smoking definitely isn’t something he considers hot, it is doubly so when Ashton’s doing it.  
  
 He looks at ease, his head tipped back and his eyes closed against the warm sun that makes all his pretty features more prominent. His hair appears to shimmer golden, a soft honey colour with strands of dark and his lashes are casting little shadows over his closed lids. There’s smoke in the form of carcinogenic ghosts slowly trickling from his slightly agape mouth into the air and Luke’s own breath hitches in his throat.  
  
If Luke doesn’t look away, he figures he’s just going to have to take a cold shower again before he goes to work so he distracts himself with the cigarette in his own hand. He eyes it warily for a moment and takes another experimental drag. It’s still disgusting, but at least he’s not going into a coughing fit. He wonders what makes smoking so appealing, except for the obvious addictive component, because it’s not really a pleasant feeling. Curiosity takes over him.  
  
 “Why do you smoke?” Ashton straightens his head up gradually and opens his eyes, not looking at Luke and taking another long drag of cigarette. He shrugs.  
  
“Why do you?”  
  
 “I just.. I don’t.” Luke states and an amused expression settles on Ashton’s face. He turns to face Luke, his eyes twinkling playfully.  
  
“You don’t?” he asks, glancing at the cigarette between Luke’s fingers and Luke takes another drag, as if to prove a point. Or something.  
  
 He thinks he’s doing pretty well until there’s smoke in his eye, somewhere it definitely doesn’t belong, of all places and for a second it’s uncomfortable. But it soon burns, almost as if a jellyfish had stung him right in the eyeball and Luke scrunches his face up, pressing his palm into his eye socket and hissing in discomfort.  
  
Ashton laughs at him. The dick.  
  
 The pain, thankfully, is short-lived and Luke experimentally blinks his eye open. It’s teary, but at least not stinging anymore. He has to bite the insides of his cheeks to keep from grinning stupidly when he looks at Ashton and turns away, rubbing at his eye again.  
  
“You idiot.” It could’ve sounded like an insult if it weren’t for the soft tone in Ashton’s voice and the fond shake of his head. He sits up properly, leaning forward, and places a hand on Luke’s knee. Luke almost puts his own hand on top.  
  
 “Look,” Ashton starts and takes the hand off of Luke’s knee, leaving a warm feeling imprinted that Luke wants back as soon as it vanished. “Don’t just suck the smoke into your mouth and leave it in there. That always tastes disgusting. You have to actually inhale it,” Ashton tries to explain to him, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “When I was fifteen, my cousin tried to teach me how to smoke,” he waves a hand dismissively and rolls his eyes. “It wasn’t a good technique. He said to imagine my parents coming in while I was smoking, so I get startled and inhale abruptly, but that just made me feel like I was coughing up my lungs.” He looks at him seriously. “Don’t try it.”  
  
Luke cocks an eyebrow, smirking.  
  
 “Just try to take an even breath. You know when you feel like you have to yawn? It’s a bit like that,” Ashton tries to explain and demonstrates it to Luke with his own cigarette. “Just a slow intake. Bit less horrible.”  
  
The situation is absurdly laughable. It’s kind of ridiculous, Ashton trying to teach Luke how to smoke a cigarette properly. Still. No one has ever attempted to explain what he was supposed to do, probably because most people didn’t need a manual. While it’s a comical occurrence, Luke finds it to be sort of adorable for some reason. At least he has a better general idea of what he’s even supposed to do now. So, eyes never leaving Ashton’s, he tries again. He’s puffing his chest up, eyes widening as he recalls what yawning actually feels like, something he has never consciously thought about before, but it works. Ashton’s giving him an affirmative nod and it’s decidedly not less horrible when the smoke makes its way into his lungs. It stings, it’s still horrible, but it’s not quite as disgusting.  
  
 It’s not a habit he’ll be picking up anytime soon.  
  
He shakes his head and stumps the cigarette out in the ashtray Ashton had constructed, with an unconvinced look on his face, because he’s not seeing the point in this. “You didn’t answer my question.”  
  
 Ashton looks confused for only a second before he seems to remember. “Right. Let’s see.. I was fifteen and wanted to rebel. It stuck with me.”  
  
“Why’d you want to rebel?”  
  
 Ashton shrugs. “It was a time when me and my parents fought a lot. And I mean screaming at each other and slamming doors every time we spoke fighting. I got so pissed off one night when we were staying at my aunt’s place and I guess I was looking for a way to hurt them, maybe. Show them what a bad kid does if they wanted to dream one up so badly.” He rolls his eyes at his own story there, an amused smile gracing his features. Luke realises that he doesn’t want the story to be over, because he wants to hear Ashton keep talking. There’s something about him that completely fixates Luke on him, maybe the way the words roll off his tongue so nicely or maybe it’s the smile that never quite seems to leave his face. Maybe it’s the self-mockery. But he could probably tell Luke about grocery shopping for an hour and he’d hang on to every word.  
  
 “Anyway. I stole one of my older cousin’s cigarettes and took a bottle of water with me outside, because I was scared I would choke. I didn’t want to hurt them that badly, either - I did a lot worse with my first cigarette than you.” He winks and Luke’s just going to assume it was meant to be flirtatious and not mocking. “So that’s why. No peer pressure, not thinking it would make me cool. Just plain stupidity.”  
  
Luke laughs and Ashton is probably aware that he’s not laughing at him, given that he joins in after a few moments. It’s so natural and Luke hasn’t felt this light in a long time. “That’s actually ridiculous,” he says.  
  
 “It’s a bit ridiculous,” Ashton agrees and their eyes meet again, making them break into giggles again - just because they can. “My mum found out about half a year later, too and didn’t really care. That much for being a rebel.” Ashton pushes his bottom lip out in a pout and Luke mimics him, but he actually just wants to kiss it off his face.  
  
“She said something really true, though. Like, she did two years later. She said that she tried to keep me from it and that I didn’t listen, obviously. Because never, ever listen to what anyone over 30 tells you, you’re just going to have to find out for yourself. Something like that. Maybe she wasn’t being entirely serious, but I like it. Maybe they do already know better, it’s likely they do, but,” he pauses, pursing his lips in thought. “I’d like to get to my own conclusions about things.”  
  
 Luke mulls it over in his head. “That’s a good principle to live by if it means you’re going to ruin your health just to see if you will,” he says sarcastically and challenges Ashton with raised eyebrows.  
  
Ashton just shrugs, smiles innocently in response. “Maybe.” Luke really wants to hear what else he has to say on the topic, on other topics, because Ashton’s mind is probably a really interesting place. He thinks he’s able to judge this by the one real conversation they’ve had. About cigarettes. A whole conversation solely about nicotine and he doesn’t even smoke, but he’s never been so interested in a conversation about ruining your health before, either. He wasn’t bored the entire time they talked and finding his way into a conversation with Ashton came naturally, something he couldn’t usually say about his conversation partners. He just really feels comfortable around this particular One Night Stand - but he’s getting up, brushing his hands over jeans and putting his cigarette out in the ashtray.  
  
 “Alright. I think I should bounce.”  
  
 Luke wants to pull him back down into the uncomfortable chair and have him sit with him until it’s three in the morning, smoke a pack of cigarettes together and talk about anything they’ll think of. He’d be willing to get out his handcuffs if he has to (They’re pink and plushy and Michael had thought it would be a hilarious gift to give Luke for his eighteenth birthday) and make Ashton stay, but he thinks that might be a felony. He doesn’t, of course, just clears his throat and gets up, too.  
  
Ashton gives him a pressed smile, like he doesn’t doesn’t want to leave yet, either, but also maybe like he’s glad he can finally leave. Luke can’t tell and he doesn’t want to know. He just follows him to the door in silence, absolutely not checking out Ashton’s ass in those jeans when he walks in front of him. But the admittedly short walk is over way too soon and he suddenly finds himself leaning against his doorframe and looking at Ashton who’s already outside, facing him. He has his arms crossed in front go his chest and doesn’t really know what to say.  
  
 “I should give you my number.”  
  
“I agree, you should.” And Luke’s glad Ashton asked first, because he doesn’t know if he would’ve and then he would’ve banged his head against a wall for a month. He reaches for his phone, unlocks it and hands it to Ashton, while Ashton does the same. He quickly types in his name and considers putting a heart at the end, but it looks so stupid so he deletes it again. Once he’s thumbed in his number he holds it back out for Ashton to take and he does, smiling. Luke pockets his own phone and meets the other man’s eyes again.  
  
 Ashton kind of looks like he wants to kiss him, tapping his toes against the grey linoleum of the hallway and his eyes flicking to Luke’s lip. Luke wants to say ‘do it’ or lean in himself or do something, but his middle-aged neighbour is just coming out of the door next to his with her three year old, who’s been giving him sleepless nights before.  
  
She’s strapping him into a buggy, adjusting various things and doesn’t even spare them a glance, but. But suddenly Luke doesn’t want Ashton to kiss him, here, so openly in his house. It’s ridiculous.  
  
 He’s not ashamed. It’s just. He knows these people. And sometimes they greet each other when they run into each other on their way to the grocery store and sometimes he holds the door for one of them. And often they just smile at each other, not saying anything else. They don’t know he’s gay, at least Luke doesn’t know why they would, and he really doesn’t know why he cares. But suddenly he does and maybe that banging his head against a wall for a month option isn’t such a bad idea after all.  
  
Ashton follows his gaze before training his eyes back on Luke’s face. He can feel it boring into his skin and he doesn’t dare turning to face the other man yet. But then he hears him clearing his throat and he’s forced to look again. Ashton’s extending a hand to him, a sullen expression having taken over his face and Luke feels his heart sinking into his shoes, slowly, torturously, like it’s telling him what an idiot he is on its way. But he doesn’t say anything, of course, doesn’t address it and just takes his hand, giving it a firm shake.    
  
“Well. It was my pleasure meeting you, Luke,” Ashton says and it’s not completely cold. It’s still holding that hint of playfulness and so is the light smile on his lips, but it’s sort of lost its lightness.  
  
“Pleasure’s mine, Ashton.”  
  
 Ashton frees his hand and turns to walk away, hands shoved into the pockets of his tight jeans. When he’s almost at the stairs, he looks back at Luke over his shoulder briefly, his lips pressed together tightly. He gives a curt nod that hurts more than anything he could’ve said and Luke feels like crying.  
  
Maybe he should run after him and kiss him square on the mouth or shout for Ashton to wait for him, but that’s only fiction. All he has to offer is a half-hearted wave and then Ashton’s turning away from him and already halfway down the stairs.  
  
 He slips back into his apartment and a sudden sadness overcomes him, threatening to push him to the floor with the weight he feels on his chest. Ashton had looked disappointed and that was fucking stupid, because he had no right to be disappointed with Luke. Luke had a right to be disappointed, because he hadn’t enjoyed someone’s company this much in a long time and hadn’t had this nice a morning. For it to come to such an abrupt end felt really shitty, somehow.  
  
He walks back out onto his balcony and leans over the railing. Surely enough, after about ten seconds, he sees Ashton’s figure coming out of the main door and stepping onto the pavement, away from Luke’s apartment. He watches until Ashton is out of sight.  
  
 He doesn’t turn around again.  
  
Luke slumps down into the chair previously occupied by Ashton and huffs out a breath of annoyance. He was annoyed with the situation, with Ashton because he looked like he was pissed at him. With himself, mostly. Who even cares what their middle-aged neighbours think.  
  
 The phone is sitting heavy in his pocket and he think’s he’ll send Ashton a really quick text. Maybe a ‘Sorry’ or a harmless ‘Thanks’ but it’s not a good idea. Ashton left not even three minutes ago. It would be a bit pathetic.  
  
He pulls his phone out anyway and unlocks it. It’s still on ‘Contacts’ and there’s Ashton’s number, with a little Heart Eye emoji next to the name ‘Ash’. He sucks in a breath because he really doesn’t want to deal with this shit feeling and thinks, if anytime, now’s the time for a goddamn cigarette.  
  
 Hell, he wanted a nice fuck, someone to be gone by morning and not someone who left ghostly touches all over his apartment and his skin. How did he get himself into this.  
  
But it’s Saturday noon, the weekend, and Luke thinks he could fall in love like this.  
  
  
  
  
And now he’s not so tipsy.

**Author's Note:**

> leave kudos and comments! <3 
> 
> if you have any suggestions on what i could do to make it better, don't be afraid to pitch it to me here or on tumblr, @irwiescoffee.


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